Lebendig mit den Herrlichkeit den Liebe
by AmiORLY
Summary: They didn't quite know when it happened. The split that occurred shook their very existence yet at the same time didn’t do anything to them. Their faces mirrored the ones that hunted them, that they chased. Was it suicide? Purposely confusing prologue


Authors Notes! CB

Huuuuurr, hi there.  
M'name is Ami and such. I'll be your storyteller this evening. :I

I haven't written fanfiction in like...ages, seriously. So, if I could get a beta read or whatever you awesome guys are called, that would be nice. OTL

Obviously this is going to be a Germancest tale of sorts. Well, partially it is.

I really love Hetalia, but part of me hates it for how whimsical it is. That would probably be why I love the fanbase. It tends to make it more serious, considering that it WAS a serious point in time.

Eh, I dunno.

This is basically a thought I've had in my head for a long time. I mean, wouldn't it hurt if you were constantly killing yourself/your citizens? I don't like it. :c

So, This is just the prologue and I'll be doing a whole shiteload more research on who else is involved in this. Feliks will probably show up and such, plus whoever else I can get some suggestions on who had a vital part or influence with this sort of thing...

It's a touchy subject, but eh, I'm gonna try.

Chances are, this prologue is going to confuse the hell out of you, and it's supposed to. I'll explain it all, I promise. I just like to jump to the exciting point first.

REVIEW IT PLEASE OTL

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**Lebendig mit den Herrlichkeit den Liebe**

**Prologue**

Neither of the two were entirely sure quite when it happened. The split that occurred shook their very existence yet at the same time didn't do anything to them. They would stare in the mirror wondering who they were now. It was a question that was a plague to them. "Am I different now? What am I now? I must be better. I must be worse." Those were the sorts of things that they asked each other, eyes cast downwards in worry. What was to happen now? It was terrifying.

On top of it all, they were all in danger. It was impossible to go for help because it was a secret that had to be dealt with in private. Their faces mirrored the ones that hunted them, that they chased. Through it all they weren't sure whether they would make it. Under this sky, they stayed. Under this sky they lived. The same clouds, the same trees, the same air.

And how they hated them. What they would give to see them squished and crushed under the pavement. To have those people, those horrible people, gone from this earth. What did they do to deserve to live, when they had already done so much wrong? They deserved to die, and they would get the job done. It had to be done. Then everything would be okay, and everything would go back to normal. How though? Part of them knew it would be easy, a quick brutal murder and it would all be done, and another part of them knew it wouldn't be.

Was it murder or suicide when you had to kill yourself? It struck fear even to the hardest, most heartless of them. Because they could feel themselves suffering; every gunshot, every shatter of glass, every fire lit, they could feel. They couldn't let it go on, one or the other had to die, and die they would.

Blue eyes met blue, one pair tired but bold and another cold and strong. Ludwig stared at himself, and Ludwig stared back. The differences were startling, horrifying. The one to the left stood like yin, his feet firmly planted onto the ground, position ready to move if needed as if he was still on edge even though it was clear there was no reason to be. He had wanted his brother to kill him, he didn't want to have to kill himself. It was a strange foreign feeling, and after all these years of hunting as the war came to an end he suddenly felt enrage by his cowardice to not be able to easily pull the trigger. His hand holding the pistol shook faintly as it pointed at the mirror image of himself. The crisp black uniform suddenly felt too tight, the cross on his heart too heavy, and Ludwig heard the first gunshot followed by a cackle.

Up until that moment the one standing to the right had been still, but standing straight upward proper as always. In contradiction to the other, his newly growing back hair covered his eyes, broken from its usual slicked back form. He was in dirty white cotton clothing, and it felt as if it was constricting him from what he wanted. He wanted to move and do something. This wasn't, couldn't, wouldn't end like this, but as the gunshot rang in his ears, along with that all to familiar cackle, he screamed out in pained mourning. He felt the other he was so connected to fade away.

His form broke and he fell to his knees, dirt coloring over the already filthy pants. The one to the right regained his focus at hearing the gunshot, "Up!" Part of him, part of him that had been growing, was that horrible voice of everyone that was with him, part of him, that disagreed with him. Germany didn't move from his spot. He felt himself pulled up by his collar, put back on his feet where he limply stood.

The two reflective blondes didn't hear the footsteps approaching; hurried and frantic as they ran. Finally as the figure was obviously close, and they looked over to see silver hair they both knew. The confusion that appeared on their face was caused by his eyes.

His eyes they knew so well, that had struck fear into enemies hearts and demanded respect from conquered nations. They had changed so much over time, each pair of eyes in a different way, and each of them had memorized him. It was hard not to, when he stood out so violently. His eye were neither soft nor hardened, cold or compassionate, and it threw the two off, suddenly unsure exactly what was happening until he pointed his revolver in their face.

"Ich werde nicht sie Sie nehmen lassen!"


End file.
